


These Late Nights

by altiae



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aggressive Hank Anderson, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ficlet, Getting Together, Hank Anderson Swears, Jealous Hank Anderson, Jealous!Hank, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Top Hank Anderson, everyone is bad at feelings, teasing connor, wireplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28781016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altiae/pseuds/altiae
Summary: Hank tightened his grip around the leash. He had been walking Sumo for an hour, circling the dark blocks in his neighborhood. He checked his watch: 2am.Not that he was surprised. This was the third night this week Connor had been out late. About a month ago, he had found a group in New Jericho that had used their newfound freedom to do what most people do after a revolution: party.--Hank finds himself waiting up for Connor more often than not these days. One night, Connor comes home in a particularly provocative outfit and Hank is Big Mad.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 7
Kudos: 149





	These Late Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Short and sweet smut for ya. Content warning: this is different than my normal smut that is aggressively consensual. It is all consensual, but not as explicitly as normal. If that is triggering for you, it may be good to pass on this one.

Hank tightened his grip around the leash. He had been walking Sumo for an hour, circling the dark blocks in his neighborhood. He checked his watch: 2am.

Not that he was surprised. This was the third night this week Connor had been out late. About a month ago, he had found a group in New Jericho that had used their newfound freedom to do what most people do after a revolution: party.

Connor was always ready for work, of course. He never let these late-night escapades interfere with his work, which left Hank feeling bitter about all the crap he got for coming into work hungover. Connor didn’t get hangovers, the little shit. Every morning his white shirts were crisp as ever and his hair fell as perfectly as always.

More and more often, Hank was left waiting up for him. Connor always insisted he didn’t need to, that he should just got to sleep. As if Hank hadn’t tried that the first few times Connor had gone out, trying to shut his mind off. At first, he worried about Connor getting hurt or attacked by whatever bottom feeders trawled the streets at night.

But as the weeks passed, their nightly routine was more set than ever.

After work, they would get home and watch a movie. Sometimes Connor would make dinner, sometimes Hank would toss something together. As the movie progressed, Hank would feel a fist form in his stomach, dragging him deeper into the couch. Once it was over, Connor would get changed, trading his pleated trousers for tight jeans that practically made Hank blackout the first time he saw them. Connor would wave goodbye to Hank and take a cab, the lights fading into the dark. Hank would turn off the TV and try to sleep.

Instead, he would seethe.

Once the worries over Connor’s safety proved unwarranted (Connor was stronger than any human he would run into anyway), Hank noticed a tendril of anger reach up from the fist in his stomach. He would think about Connor out partying with his friends, dancing to loud music and just trying to get lost. The thoughts turned darkest when he started thinking about the other androids there, ones who might be interested in Connor. This bothered him most because he knew Connor was interested in men; he had made that much clear after just a few nights out with his fellow androids.

“Don’t you all need to go into stasis sometimes?” Hank asked, keeping his eyes in front of him as they drove into work.

“We do, but not every night. Besides, being out with them gives me a different type of energy,” Connor explained, nonchalant.

Hank scoffed, “I bet.”

Connor turned to Hank, his eyebrows knitted together, “What are you referring to?”

“I just—you know, it’s like college. Newfound freedom, letting off steam, that type of thing,” Hank said, obfuscating his initial reaction.

Connor considered, “Yes, I suppose something like that. Just as loud music and dancing help to release endorphins in human brains, it helps us to deafen our processors a bit. The sheer amount of stimuli make it easier for us to relax. Especially when paired with physical contact.”

Hank winced. He didn’t want to know the answer to the question he felt working its way out of his mouth, but somehow the lizard part of his brain made the decision for him.

“What do you mean physical contact?”

“Sexual experiences would be more accurate,” Connor said, matter of fact. “They help take me out of my own cycle of thoughts. It, in and of itself, can be a type of stasis.”

Hank's vision narrowed to a fine point in front of him as he drove. He had a distinct thought that perhaps he should not be operating a motor vehicle right now.

Hank cleared his throat. “Well, good for you, Connor.” The statement came out stiff.

“I’m finding myself drawn to men more than women. Of course, I can see their appeal, but my sensors indicate that my preference is more—”

“That’s enough,” Hank said firmly, raising a hand between them.

Connor’s mouth snapped shut and he looked hurt.

“You seem uncomfortable, Lieutenant. Do partners on the police force not discuss topics of this nature? In _Bad Boys_ , the two main characters discussed—”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Hank said, emphasizing the last word. “I just don’t need to know about your, you know, _sensors_ , or whatever.”

Connor had shaken off the moment well enough, easily steering the conversation to their current cases.

Hank had not shaken it off as easily.

He replayed the conversation over and over again, isolating the look on Connor’s face when he had talked about the late-night parties and “physical contact” that was so beneficial to him. Hank had always known it was only a matter of time until he moved on; the android was a walking fantasy.

Connor would either move out to live with friends or one of his “physical contact” partners. He would probably rise above Hank in the DPD, fully leaving Hank behind.

But this hal-solution was driving Hank mad. Connor felt like _half_ his. The two spent the vast majority of their time together: talking, cooking, even grocery shopping. It was torture to watch Connor build out an entire part of his life entirely without Hank, especially the sexual part.

Hank knew he was a goner within moments of meeting Connor. It made him feel older than usual, to be fantasizing about a kid that looked half his age. But Hank could deal with it, as long as Connor didn’t have sexual relationships with anyone else. Knowing he was out partying and hooking up was bad enough. To know he was interested in men? That pretty much broke Hank.

Now, on nights that Connor went out, Hank didn’t even try to sleep. He had taken to long walks with Sumo, an unexpected benefit for the canine. He spent hours circling the block, hoping to spot a light on in the living room every time the house came back into view.

The skin peeking out from between the sections of the tightly wound leash was turning a bluish-white, Hank noticed under a streetlight. He glanced up, recognizing the house and noticing each window was, as usual, dark. Sumo looked up to him with wide, brown eyes, eager for his warm bed.

Hank sighed, “Okay, buddy, you’re right. Time to go home and wait for him there.”

In the span of walking the 100 yards to the house, Hank had decided he had to let Connor go. It wasn’t healthy for him to be pining over a roommate. Connor needed to move out, move on with his life. And Hank, for his part, needed to get a full night of sleep at least sometimes.

Hank unlocked the door, unhooking Sumo’s leash and hanging it by the door. The dog lumbered to his bed and let out a heavy sigh before turning a few circles and flopping down. Snores reverberated throughout the room within moments.

Flipping on the lights, Hank walked to the kitchen. He took out a glass, pouring himself a few fingers of whiskey. He threw in a few ice cubes and dropped himself into one of the kitchen chairs. Hank leaned forward, his hands in his hair. The light above him cast a shadow over the table and Hank closed his eyes.

Hank stayed just like that, slumped over the table, for about twenty minutes. He finished his whiskey but couldn’t muster the energy to pour another, which, all things considered, isn’t the worst motivation to drink less.

He only turned his head upon the distinct sound of a car pulling up to the house. The telltale light indicating a taxi, the sound of a door sliding open and closed, and the grating of a key against his door’s lock mechanism.

Connor swung the door open, but not quietly. He must have seen the kitchen light on.

Before looking at him, Hank stood to pour himself another drink. “Home already? It’s only 3am.”

“You didn’t need to wait for me to come home, Hank,” Connor said, pulling off a jacket and hanging it on the hook.

Hank brought the glass to his lips as he glanced at Connor. This evening, the android hadn’t simply swapped his trousers for jeans; he was in tight shorts and a sleeveless shirt. The shirt, thin and white, was a few inches short on him. Hank could make out a few sparse hairs below his belly button. The vision was enough to make him sputter on his drink.

“Why are you dressed like a fucking go-go dancer?” he coughed through the question.

“Simon talked us into it,” Connor said, looking a little bashful. “It’s not exactly my style, but it was an effective tactic for group cohesion.”

Only this motherfucker would reference something like “group cohesion” while wearing vinyl booty shorts.

Connor walked to the kitchen, leaning into the refrigerator to grab a thirium drink. Whether he knew it or not, he was giving Hank a great view of his ass. Probably something he had spent the entire night doing, torturing the other men around him.

Hank downed his drink.

“You look like a slut, you know.”

Connor shut the refrigerator door by his side and turned to face Hank, anger flashing in his eyes. He tipped the blue drink into his mouth, his back stretching up.

“That sounds like it's none of your business,” he said, the blue liquid smearing over his bottom lip. 

“Like hell it’s none of my business. You live in my fucking house,” Hank spat from across the table, bracing his arms on the back of one of the chairs.

Connor raised one eyebrow. “I didn’t realize that was a contingency of my living here. Shall I purchase some loudly-patterned shirts to adhere to the house dress code?”

Hank narrowed his eyes and tightened his shoulders. “This isn’t about me, Connor. This is about you going out every night and partying with your friends.”

“Which is a problem for what reason?” Connor’s question was apathetic.

“It’s a problem because you’re out all night making me fucking worry about you! I have no idea where you are; I don’t know when you’re coming back. And then you get home and you’re dressed like you’re a cage dancer at a goddamn rave.”

Connor pursed his lips, “I think for it to be a rave, there would have to be EDM music, which is not—”

“Connor, I’m not fucking around,” Hank said, interrupting him.

“Nor am I,” he said, finishing the drink and tossing it in the trash can. He crossed to the table and leaned on the chair opposite Hank, mirroring his position. “I do not understand why you’re so upset. Do you not want me to have friends?”

“Fuck that, you know I want you to have friends,” Hank replied, waving him off.

“Then you don’t want me to be in dangerous situations? Such as the ones we’re in every day as detectives?”

“I know you can handle yourself,” Hank admitted, feeling the wind taken out of his sails.

Connor blinked at Hank before standing up straight and crossing his arms. His head dropped to the side and a smile grew on his face. It made Hank nervous.

“Hank Anderson. Are you jealous?”

“Fuck no, I’m not goddamn jealous,” Hank lied the least convincingly lie of his life. Connor’s smile made him want to punch him in the mouth. Connor’s LED had elevated to a dim yellow, a color that made Hank know he was analyzing something: him.

“Stop fucking doing that,” Hank said, jabbing a finger at Connor.

“You’re lying. You are jealous,” Connor said flatly.

Hank shoved the chair toward the table, rounding it to get to Connor.

Connor’s smile had shifted into a defiant smirk, looking Hank up and down as the cop backed him into the counter. He braced himself on the counter behind him, the heels of his hands landing on the linoleum.

Hank was one step from Connor, his eyes raking over his body. His voice was low and quiet when he spoke, “I am not jealous. You are dressing like a slut to get whatever rocks you have off. And it’s disgusting.”

“Well, since you’re not jealous, this shouldn’t bother you,” Connor said, lifting the bottom of his shirt.

The fabric lifted up, baring his stomach and chest. The outlines of the muscles stretched as he lifted his arms above his head, pulling the shirt up before tossing it to the floor. His eyes tracked back up to Hank’s, whose pupils were blown wide.

Hank knew he was staring. He had never seen Connor without a shirt on, never seen this wide an expanse of skin on him. His fingers twitched at his sides. He swallowed. It would be so easy to just lean forward, grab Connor by the back of the neck, and press into him.

It took everything in Hank’s power to turn around and walk back towards the living room. His head shook back and forth as he took deliberate steps away from Connor.

He heard light footsteps following him out of the kitchen.

“You seem bothered, Hank.”

“Fuck off, Connor,” Hank said into the empty hallway.

“Why aren’t you being honest with me?” Connor said, his exasperation bleeding through the words.

Hank set his jaw, his tongue clicking behind his teeth. The static in his hands had returned, an outpouring of the fire roaring in his belly. Honesty. That’s what the kid wanted.

Fine.

Hank turned, his face angled downward. He took three fast steps toward Connor, lifting his forearm and slamming into Connor’s upper chest. Connor’s back hit the hallway wall as his toes grazed the ground, eager for purchase.

“You want fucking honesty, Connor? Is that what you really want?” Hank asked.

Connor’s hands had reflexively lifted and his fingernails dug into the rough skin of Hank’s forearm. His eyes were wide.

“Think carefully before you answer,” Hank said, increasing the pressure on Connor’s chest.

Connor’s chin lifted, his eyes blazing. The nod he gave was small but distinct.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you since the first time I saw you. Even in Jimmy’s bar, when you dropped a fucking drink in my lap. I wanted to drag you into the bathroom and take you against the sink. Every day at the DPD I think about ripping off your perfect clothes, bending you over the desk, and hearing you scream.”

Connor’s face flushed, the column of his neck stretching upwards. Hank inched closer to Connor, angling his face toward the android. Quiet anger drifted off of him like steam.

“But I don’t. Because you’re not mine. Instead, I watch you go out every fucking night, where you give it away to everyone else. I wait up for you, imagining you pressed up against walls just like this, grinding into some random guy.”

Hank was only partly in control of his other hand, which landed on Connor’s hip. His thumb rubbed over the bone, or whatever it was made of, and his fingers splayed over Connor’s ass. Hank held him stiffly in place.

“So, yes, I am jealous,” Hank growled into his ear. Hank closed the final few inches between them, his chest pressing against Connor’s. “Because I want to be the one throwing you against the wall and slipping into you in the dark.”

Hank’s pants had grown uncomfortably tight being this close to a shirtless Connor. His breathing was ragged and uneven and he was uncertain of what he would do if he didn’t put some distance between them. With a final push, he shoved off of Connor, backing into the hallway.

Connor’s chest rose and fall, the blue circle of his thirium pump oscillating in the dark hallway. It contrasted with the red circle at his temple, spinning fast and rough. Hank gritted his teeth and turned towards his bedroom, fists at his side.

“So, I was right,” Connor’s voice carried an edge to it. Hank stopped short, turning his head across and down, boring a hole into the carpet.

“Humans are so predictable,” Connor said under his breath.

And that, Hank discovered, was the final straw.

He turned without thinking. In half a breath, he had grabbed Connor by the throat and shoved him against the couch, pressing himself against Connor’s pelvis. The android balanced precariously on the back of the couch and instinctively wrapped his legs around Hank to stop from falling backward.

“Predictable, huh?” Hank rasped.

One hand slid behind Connor, feeling his ass underneath the vinyl shorts. The other pressed Connor’s face up to the ceiling. Hank’s mouth landed on Connor’s neck, sucking and pulling on the skin. The hand on Connor’s throat loosened and slipped behind his neck, feeling for the neck port Hank had learned about through many late-night internet searches. It popped open easily.

Connor’s back arched into Hank as one of Hank’s fingers dipped into the port, feeling the wires running into Connor. A non-human sound tumbled out of Connor’s mouth, somewhere between white noise from an old television and a computer booting up.

“You like that, don’t you?” Hank asked, fitting another finger into the port. He stroked the wires deeper, finding one that made Connor lean forward and rest his forehead on Hank’s shoulder. 

“No one’s ever done—oh god, no one’s ever done this, Hank,” Connor stuttered, rutting his hips against Hank. He ground his hips into Connor, who responded by tightening his legs. Hank felt a moan rumble up and out of Connor’s mouth. Hank could feel Connor’s cock straining against the stupid shorts, eager for any kind of friction. But Hank backed his hips away to a frustrated moan.

“You’ll call me Lieutenant,” Hank stated, his voice low.

“Lieu-lieutenant,” Connor corrected, his mouth hanging open.

Hank rewarded him, adding to the onslaught in Connor’s port, delving deeper and wrapping one of the wires around his index finger.

Connor whimpered against Hank’s shoulder, muttering to himself. “More—please Hank.”

Hank stopped his fingers and pulled Connor’s head back up.

“Lieutenant, I mean, I’m sorry,” Connor rambled, his eyes glued to Hank’s lips. “I’ll be good. I’ll be good,” he promised, his hips passively sliding forward toward Hank.

Hank pulled his fingers out, to Connor’s visible dismay.

“Get on your knees,” Hank said.

Connor was on the ground in a flash, eagerly looking up into Hank’s blue eyes. His mouth was already partly open as he worked Hank’s pants off his hips. Hank’s cock was painfully stiff, and Connor descended on it hungrily. Hank dropped one hand to Connor’s jaw, the other behind his neck, re-entering the port as Connor swirled his tongue around his tip.

Hank was really, really trying to retain control over the situation. But the sound of Connor moaning on his cock, and the feeling of his tongue along the length was just about too much. He had thought about this for months and months, imagined just this. And the reality made the fantasy look like a lukewarm microwave dinner.

Hank dipped his fingers deeper into Connor, feeling his focus stutter. Hank wanted that, wanted him to lose control.

“I want you to come from just my fingers in you. I want you to come with my cock in your mouth. Come in those shorts of yours,” Hank's directives were met with a dutiful moan, Connor’s hands wrapping around his thighs.

One stroke of Hank’s fingers had Connor gasp, dropping Hank out of his mouth.

“That…,” Connor started, before Hank led him back to his dick. The android’s attention was divided, which was exactly where Hank wanted him. Hank wrapped the wire around his finger and tugged, sending a jolt of electricity through Connor. He yelped onto Hank’s cock, looking up at Hank with his eyes heavily lidded.

“You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” Hank asked with an off-center grin. “You like being told what to do, how to please me. You like being told how and when to get off.”

Connor twitched; it could have been a nod.

“So, do it,” Hank said darkly, slipping his fingers deeper and stroking the upper ridge of the port.

The light from the kitchen cascaded over his cheekbones and Hank thought, not for the first time, that Connor was damn pretty. He was especially pretty when he came. Connor’s back stiffened, his hips jutting forward into Hank’s leg. His mouth went slack on Hank’s cock, his brown eyes wide before fluttering closed. Hank held him in place as his orgasm washed over him.

As the aftershocks subsided, a bit of clarity came back to Connor’s eyes. He blinked a few times, focusing back on Hank. For once, the android was speechless. Instead of saying anything, his hands found Hank’s still-hard cock in front of him.

But Hank had other designs. Snapping the port door closed, he lifted Connor up by the back of the neck.

“You’re not done, kid,” he started, directing him down the hall and to the bedroom. Connor’s legs were clumsy as he was still recovering from the orgasm.

When they arrived in the bedroom, Hank unbuttoned his shirt, dragging it off and throwing it on the floor. Connor’s eyes went wide, taking in the information of a shirtless Hank. He walked toward him, laying a hand flat on a faded tattoo on his chest.

The sudden moment of tenderness slowed Hank’s eagerness to get inside Connor. The android squinted at Hank’s chest, inspecting him. Connor pulled his synth skin back, the perfectly-white hand drifting through Hank’s chest hair.

“Connor?” Hank asked, quieter than usual.

Connor’s eyes drifted to Hank’s face. “Every night I went out, I was just looking for you.”

Hank’s hand covered Connor’s. It was Connor’s turn to close the distance between them and he brought one hand to Hank’s chin, laying it against his cheek.

It was strange their first kiss happened after the first orgasm, but Hank supposed most things were strange with Connor. Either way, neither of them seemed to care, wrapping their arms around each other. Hank got a little lost, trying to feel all of Connor.

Connor pulled back just enough to hover his mouth in front of Hank’s. “You mentioned I wasn’t done.”

It was Hank’s turn to blink his way out of his stupor. “What?” he asked lamely.

“You mentioned I wasn’t done, Lieutenant,” Connor said, dropping a hand to Hank’s cock. It had softened a bit in the tender moment but was quickly rectifying the problem. Hank’s vision darkened as he returned to the role, reaching out to Connor’s soft cock in his shorts.

“These are dirty now. Take them off,” he said.

Connor reluctantly pulled his hand away from Hank, hooking his thumbs around the shorts. He pulled them down, trailing the bluish-white liquid that had started leaking down from them. They landed on the floor.

“Get on the bed.”

Connor followed orders, kneeling on the bed before Hank shoved the space between his shoulder blades, knocking him on all fours. Hank slid his hands around Connor’s thighs and pulled him backward, toward Hank’s groin. Connor’s elbows weakened as he mewled, pushing into Hank.

Both hands landed on Connor’s ass, massaging it. One finger slid inside, easily.

“Fuck, you’re wet. You want this, don’t you?” Hank asked.

“Yes, yes please Lieutenant. Please, fuck me,” Connor pleaded, dropping his shoulders to the bed.

There had been a lot of good views from this evening that Hank wanted to commit to memory. Connor’s face pressed into the bed, his ass grinding into Hank as he fingered him open, may have been the top.

“More please, Lieutenant,” Connor begged.

“Needy little android,” Hank muttered before pulling out his finger. He lined up his cock to Connor’s entrance and felt a sharp inhale from beneath him.

Hank took it slow, pressing in an inch at a time.

“Damnit, Connor, you’re tight,” Hank murmured, thinking of the handwritten thank you note he would have to send to CyberLife.

“Fuck me, Lieutenant. Please, fuck me,” Connor moaned. Hank, not usually one to take orders, was happy to oblige. He bottomed out in Connor, his hips flush against Connor’s ass. But before long, he pulled back out, only to thrust back in. Connor yelped, reaching one hand above him to fist the covers.

Hank laid one hand flat on Connor’s back, pressing down as he hammered into him. He knew he wouldn't last long.

Hank reached down, wrapping one hand around Connor’s throat. He pulled him up, anchoring his hips against Hank’s length. Connor’s arms reflexively landed behind Hank’s head, arching his back, and his ass, onto Hank’s cock.

“You’re mine now, Connor,” Hank said, his voice getting raspy as he sunk into Connor again and again. “You’re all mine.”

Hank felt something wet trickle onto his hand—Connor was drooling.

“Say it,” Hank said, his orgasm a foregone conclusion now, as he wrapped one hand around Connor’s cock, stroking him.

“I’m yours. Anything you want—oh fuck, fuck me whenever you want,” Connor said as his nails dug into Hank’s scalp as Hank thrust one more time into him when his orgasm peaked, spilling into him. Connor came for the second time, shuddering forward as the liquid shot out of him onto the bed.

Hank clutched Connor against him, breathing hard into his neck. The two twitched through the aftershocks and Connor’s grip loosened. Hank pulled out, sinking into the bed. Connor pouted at the sudden emptiness, but his knees weren’t strong enough to hold him up anymore, so he fell forward, next to Hank.

A hand found Hank’s and Connor followed, curling into him. Connor’s head rested on Hank’s chest as his arm wound around and pulled them closer together. Hank smiled, wrapping his arms around Connor’s shoulders. He tenderly kissed Connor’s head. There were so many things he wanted to say, but none that seemed more important than this. Just this.

“I meant it, you know,” Connor said.

“Hm?” Hank asked in more of a grunt than an actual word.

“About going out. I realized I was just going out looking for you.”

“Well, you don’t have to go anywhere now,” Hank said, already feeling the pull to fall asleep.

Connor traced the lines of the tattoo over Hank’s heart, spreading a pleasant warmness through his torso. It was too pleasant, too comfortable.

“There is somewhere we have to go,” Connor offered.

Hank gave one of his half-words-half-grunts.

“The shower.”

“Nuh uh,” Hank said, cozying closer to Connor.

“Yes, sir,” he said, pulling away to leave the bed. It Hank’s turn to pout.

“Come on, we’re a mess, Hank.”

“Made you messy,” Hank said with a smile, his eyes blissfully closed.

Hank could practically feel Connor cross his arms. “I’ll make you a deal. You take a shower with me now and tomorrow we’ll work late at the DPD.”

Hank opened one eye, “Why would I want to work late—” he stopped short when he saw Connor’s face.

“Oh,” he said simply, both eyes open now. “I’ll be right there.”


End file.
